


Double Trouble

by herxndale



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Flash (TV 2014), X-Men (Movieverse)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 19:18:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7586647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herxndale/pseuds/herxndale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Avengers/X-Men Crossover featuring Barry Allen from the TV show The Flash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: swearing

**Classified Location, New York, 2016**

Pietro was only awake because he was hungry. Truth be told, he’s almost always hungry, but at one o’clock in the morning when his insomnia kicked in, his craving for food seemed to intensify. He wanted…something sugary. Something that would set his teeth on edge and keep him energized until the rest of the Avengers woke up in the morning. It wasn’t a good habit, depriving himself of sleep each night, but ever since Hydra had experimented on him—and especially after the battle of Sokovia—Pietro couldn’t close his eyes without being plagued by horrific nightmares. 

He rummaged through the cupboards of the Avengers’ Base kitchen, pulling out a box of Lucky Charms and tossing a handful of cereal into his mouth before putting the box back in its place. He wished there were some Twinkies floating around somewhere, but alas. Pietro had taken a liking to the American treat, but unfortunately most of the Avengers’ groceries consisted of food with actual nutritional value. 

The shuffling of drowsy footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Pietro quickly _woosh_ ed into the next room. “Pietro, I know you’re there,” Wanda’s voice called out softly. 

Pietro ran back into the kitchen in milliseconds. “There isn’t any good food,” he complained halfheartedly, trying to distract his sister from the fact that he was awake at such an hour. 

“Why are you still awake?” Wanda inquired, ignoring her brother’s attempted diversion.

Pietro shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”

A sympathetic expression passed over Wanda’s face. “What’s wrong,” she wondered, filling up a glass of water and handing it to Pietro. Pietro took the glass and swirled the water around, watching it pensively but not drinking it. He didn’t answer Wanda’s question, and she sighed. Her stoic twin brother, always pretending he was strong even when he wasn’t. 

“Is it about Klara?” Wanda asked. Pietro stopped spinning the glass, carefully keeping his gaze on the mini whirlpool he had created instead of his sister. Wanda leaned her hip against the counter and tilted her head to the side, crossing her arms over her red fleece pajamaed chest. “She still loves you, you know.”

Pietro pursed his lips in contemplation. “I’m not so sure,” he said after a moment of silence.

“She agreed to go on a date with you, Piet,” Wanda reminded him, “She at least likes you.”

With a sigh, Pietro placed the still-full water glass on the counter. “Why would she? After everything I did?”

Wanda reached forward and grasped her brother’s hands in her own. “Stop beating yourself up about that. You did what you had to do, and Klara forgave you a long time ago. Now please, Pietro, go back to sleep,” she said pleadingly. 

“Yeah.” Pietro waved off Wanda with false confidence. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

“Don’t stay up too late,” Wanda said with a twinge of sadness, knowing that Pietro had no intention of going to bed. He was probably going to run laps around upstate New York until he finally passed out with exhaustion. With a heavy heart Wanda headed back upstairs to her room. She made it to her bedroom door—her fingers wrapped around the doorknob—before she passed out, landing on the hallway floor with a heavy _thud_.

Pietro sped out of the Base to the edge of the countryside—the lights of a nearby city glowing in the distance—then promptly fell unconscious, just like his sister did many, many miles away.

***

**Westchester, New York, 1984**

Peter was awake because he’d eaten too many Twinkles. Again. His mother said it was a form of self sabotage; he was afraid of going to sleep, so his mind subconsciously kept him awake. But then again, Peter’s mother was a self proclaimed alcoholic who could be found drinking at odd hours of the night. In fact, she was probably liquoring up right now—at one o’clock in the morning—as her son ate Twinkies and played PacMan. They each had their addictions.

The X-Mansion was silent except for the sound of the PacMan machine. It was kind of eerie, actually, being in the huge, dark house without any of the kids milling about making their usual obnoxious racket. As much as high schoolers tended to annoy Peter, he missed having their noisy hubbub to distract him from the loneliness of the hour. 

When Peter had joined the X-Men in ’83, he hadn’t expected to be so bored. And he was bored of everything lately. Nothing excited him anymore. There hadn’t been any more serious missions since Apocalypse, and Peter wasn’t suited for being a teacher. He resorted to running around New York, stealing things and pulling small pranks on strangers, trying to ignore the fact that all of his friends were ten years younger than him and his father was a part-time evil mastermind.

Peter sighed. He wished someone was awake right now. Someone he could play ping pong with and pester halfheartedly for hours on end without offending them. Scott was the closest to fitting that description, but he was probably with Jean right now. Lately they’d been pretty attached, leaving Peter to feel like a third wheel. 

“Why are you still awake?” Ororo’s distinctly accented voice asked.

Peter jumped in surprise, whirling around quickly and dashing over to the couch in the darkened lounge room. “Why do you ask?” He zipped forward so he and Ororo were chest to chest. The top of her head only reached his nose, so she had to crane her neck to make eye contact. She didn’t look impressed.

“Because you are annoying me,” she stated bluntly. “I was trying to sleep but all I could hear was you playing your game.”

Peter let out a low whistle. “Damn, you have good hearing.” 

Ororo narrowed her eyes. “I just want to go to sleep, Peter.”

“Me too, honey bun, maybe you could help a brother out—“ Peter didn’t get to finish his offer, because Ororo cut him off. 

She jabbed a finger to his chest and gritted out, “I just want to sleep. Please be more quiet.” She used her abilities with wind to push her feet off the ground and levitate herself back upstairs, tossing Peter one last dirty look before disappearing. 

“Damn,” Peter said again. Ororo Munroe, what a character. The untouchable Storm, never taking crap from anyone. Which was unfortunate, because Peter was constantly spewing crap. 

Peter decided to call it quits for the night, and sped into the kitchen at superspeed. He ate a Twinkie. He washed a few dishes left by irresponsible students. He ate another Twinkie. Man, he needed to stop eating those. They made Peter twitchy and definitely did not help his sleep situation. If only Ororo wasn’t so gung ho on being well rested. She was one hell of a ping pong player. 

Snapping his goggles over his eyes and tugging on the lapels of his silver jacket, Peter _woosh_ ed outside, speeding down the streets alongside cars. He ran until he promptly fell over, completely comatose. 

***

**Unknown Location, Unknown Time Period**

Wanda woke up with her cheek pressed into the pavement, her neck bent uncomfortably. With a groan, she sat up and rubbed her face, brushing off the small rocks and dirt ingrained in her skin. Beside her lay Pietro, his limbs limp and his mouth slightly open. She shook her brother’s shoulder lightly, saying, “Piet. Piet, get up.” Pietro didn’t react, he just flopped around like a dead fish as Wanda moved him about. 

Sighing, Wanda continued to shake and poke her twin, half of her scared that Pietro would never wake up, the other half annoyed by his unresponsive state. “Davay, prosypaysya!” Wanda yelled, but to no avail. 

“Are you Russian?” A voice wondered from behind Wanda. She whirled around, and a young man with silver hair and an odd outfit stood behind her, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion, his arms crossed across his chest. He was wearing a U2 t-shirt, black skinny jeans, a silver leather jacket and matching silver shoes. He had goggles resting on top of his head and old fashioned headphones around his neck. Wanda wasn’t quite sure what this guy’s obsession with silver was about, but she certainly had something to say about being called _Russian_. Just as she was about to correct the stranger about her nationality and tell him he ought to mind his own business, the man began to rapidly fire questions in her direction before she could even open her mouth. 

“Why are you in pajamas? What’s wrong with him? Why won’t he wake up? Who are you? Who is he? Why _are_ you in pajamas, anyway? Where are we? Did you pass out too? Is that what happened to him? I think that’s what happened to me. I just woke up.”

Wanda glared at the man in silver and stood up, standing in front of Pietro protectively. Ignoring the previous inquiries, she demanded, “Who are you?”

“Peter Maximoff,” the man said automatically. He tilted his head back, his eyes narrowing calculatingly. “You’re not an axe murderer, are you?”

“No, I’m not, although there are days I wish I was.” Wanda paused, thinking back to who he had just introduced himself as. “Did you say your name is Maximoff?”

Peter didn’t answer, instead opting to repeat yet again, “Why are you wearing pajamas?”

Wanda, who had grown tired of being asked this, snapped, “Because it’s one in the morning.”

Peter pointed a finger at the sky. “No it’s not,” he said with a smirk. 

Lifting her chin to squint at the bright, midday sun, Wanda cursed internally. Of course. Of freaking course she had been transported to someplace in her pajamas with a useless brother and a smartass dressed in silver. 

“Well, it was one in the morning,” she corrected.

“Huh.” Peter looked at her curiously. “That’s kinda weird. I mean, that’s what time it was when I blacked out too.”

Suddenly, Pietro scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide with panic. He stumbled, almost falling, but quickly regained his balance. He cocked his head to the side when he saw Peter. “Who’s that?” He peered over his shoulder at the brick alley they were all standing in. “Where are we?” His gaze landed on Wanda again. “Why are you wearing pajamas?”

“Stop asking me about my pajamas!” Wanda exclaimed. 

“I only asked once,” Pietro retorted. 

Wanda closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying not to get too angry and snap. She needed to keep her emotions in check so she didn’t accidentally lose control of her powers. Opening her eyes again and forcing a smile, she said, “Pietro, this is Peter Maximoff. Peter, this is my idiot brother, Pietro Maximoff.”

Pietro scowled. “I’m older than you.”

“You’re still an idiot,” Wanda pointed out.

“Did you say Maximoff?” Peter inquired.

“Yes. We’re the Maximoff twins; Wanda and Pietro,” Wanda patiently explained.

Peter’s face drained of color, leaving him pale as a sheet. 

“What?” Wanda demanded. “What’s wrong?”

Peter glanced away, looking out at the cars speeding down the street. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he lied, “Nothing. It’s just…” He turned to Pietro. “You wouldn’t happen to be able to run really fast, would you?”

Pietro frowned. “I am the fastest man alive.”

“That’s impossible,” Peter stated, but he didn’t sound so sure. 

“No,” Pietro insisted, crossing his arms defensively. “I really am faster than everyone.”

Peter smirked, his previous discomfort long gone. “Race you,” he dared. 

Wanda groaned. “You can’t be serious.”

Ignoring his sister, Pietro pointed to a huge circular building in the distance. “I will race you to that building. Get ready to lose.”

With a snort, Peter snapped his goggles on and jumped up and down on the balls of his feet. Pietro cracked his neck threateningly. Wanda rolled her eyes and sighed theatrically. Clearly showing off was more important that trying to figure out what the hell had happened to them.

“Go!” Peter shouted. Pietro zoomed away, leaving a trail of blue energy in his wake.

Peter didn’t move, just stared after Pietro, his jaw dropped. To Wanda, he exclaimed, “Holy shit!”

Wanda couldn’t help the arrogant smirk that curved her lips upward. “He _is_ the fastest man alive,” she said pretentiously. 

Peter rolled his eyes. “No he’s not,” he argued, dashing off after the second fastest man alive. Easily catching up with Pietro, he grinned at the Sokovian, who nearly tripped over his own feet when he saw Peter running alongside him. 

Pietro’s shock quickly turned to rage when Peter started doing laps around him, and the wicked silver speedster’s grin broadened. As the two neared their destination, Peter darted forward, winning the race by several seconds. When Pietro finished as well, Peter let out a spirited cheer. 

“Dude, that was so _cool_!” Peter yelled. 

“Po’shyol ‘na hui,” Pietro snapped with a scowl. 

“I have no idea what you just said,” Peter said, his voice still carrying a bit of excitement. 

“Mu’dak,” Pietro swore.

“Still don’t speak Russian,” Peter pointed out.

“I’m not Russian!” 

“Yeah, but that sounded a lot like a Russian swear word.”

“It’s a dialect,” Pietro muttered. 

At that moment, Wanda floated down beside them, red energy swirling around her beringed fingers and slippered feet. “Are you two done?” She asked, her displeased expression conveying just how irritated she was.

“Yes,” Pietro said, just as Peter voiced, “No.” The two Maximoff boys looked at each other, Pietro’s angry blue glare clashing with Peter’s joyous, dark-eyed mischief. 

Wanda studied the two for a moment before clapping her hands together and announcing, “Good! Now let’s work on getting out of here, shall we?”

The three of them started walking down the street, Wanda taking the lead as the boys wandered behind her in awkward silence. Peter kept glancing at Pietro, and finally spoke up, “Say, Pedro—”

“It’s Pietro,” Pietro interrupted.

“Yeah, I can’t pronounce that,” Peter said matter-of-factly.

Pietro glowered. 

“Anyway,” Peter continued cheerfully, “How’d you get that blue stuff to follow you around? Man, it looks so cool. I wish I could do that.”

“I’ve always had that blue stuff when I run,” Pietro said warily, unsure of whether to reciprocate Peter’s sudden friendliness or to react with more ferocity. 

Disappointment flashed over Peter’s face briefly, but the emotion vanished in an instant. “Oh. Well, lucky you. I mean, I just go fast. Like, people think I teleport sometimes, but that’s not really my thing. I’m not about that life, y’know?” He was rambling, but his blabbering was gradually melting the quiet unease among the group. 

Once he’d regained some of his confidence, Pietro boasted, “I died once.”

Peter choked. “Wha—you _died_?” 

Wanda cut Pietro a warning glance. He wasn’t supposed to tell people about the incident in Sokovia, and if he did, he was supposed to pass the accident off as a “close call” that he recovered from with the help of S.H.I.E.L.D. Neither Coulson nor Fury were too jazzed about the fact that Pietro had been dead for an entire twelve hours before being brought back, and that it had been by the hands of an Inhuman that he was resurrected. 

“He didn’t die,” Wanda fibbed, “He _almost_ died. There is a difference.”

Pietro scoffed. He had caught his sister’s lie, but he didn’t refute it. “I was kind of dead. I got shot. Twelve times. In the chest.”

Awed, Peter said, “Whoa, dude, that’s hardcore. But couldn’t you have just…moved the bullets?” 

“ _Moved the bullets_? You mean you can _move_ bullets?” Pietro said with disbelief.

“You mean you can’t?” Peter wondered.

“Of course I can,” Pietro claimed.

Again, Wanda stepped in to correct her twin. “No, Pietro can’t move bullets. He’s fast, but he’s not _that_ fast,” she said.

“I can move bullets,” Pietro insisted.

“Not twelve of them,” Wanda retorted, then abruptly changing topics, she asked, “Do either of you have any money?”

Peter slipped his hand inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. “Snagged this off some prick who was hitting on a waitress half his age,” he informed them, grinning at Pietro as he added, “I hooked up with that waitress after her shift ended.” Pietro smirked, and the two speedsters high fived. 

Wanda made a noise of disgust, uttering under her breath, “Boys.”

Hearing Wanda’s disapproval, Peter started to defend himself, “Listen, sister—”

“I’m not your sister,” Wanda interjected. 

Peter opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but then shut it, thinking better of the response he had quipped. Instead, he tried a polite, “What do you intend to use my stolen money for, Wanda?”

“Coffee,” Wanda replied, gesturing to a sign advertising fine coffees and teas that read: “CC Jitters.”

Peter looked over at Pietro, who shrugged, as if to say that yes, coffee was a purchase worthy of money stolen for the sake of having sex with a cute waitress. “Alright,” Peter said. “Coffee it is.”

They entered CC Jitters, getting into line behind a girl with wavy, dark chocolate colored hair. Peter stood in front of the twins since he had the cash, and Pietro, whose gaze was examining Peter’s back harshly, murmured to Wanda, “I’m taller than him.”

Wanda rolled her eyes. “You two are the same height,” she whispered back.

“Maybe, but I’m pretty sure I’m a little taller,” Pietro claimed.

“You’re not.”

Not one to easily give up, Pietro switched tactics. “Either way, I am definitely better looking than him,” he said. 

Wanda shrugged, and made an indifferent, “Eh.”

Pietro was about to demand what Wanda’s uninterested _eh_ meant, but Wanda was saved from the interrogation by Peter, who told them it was their turn to order. After they’d gotten their coffee, the trio found a table and sat down, drinking their caffeinated drinks in silence. 

“So,” Wanda began. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know,” Pietro answered, looking sadly at his already empty coffee cup. 

Wanda’s voice was colored with annoyance when she said, “We were transported here over an hour ago and yet neither of you bothered to figure out where we are?”

“In our defense, neither did you,” Peter said.

“Must I do everything?” Wanda exclaimed. Peter and Pietro exchanged an exasperated glance, their expressions conveying they thought Wanda was clearly overreacting. With a huff, Wanda waved over a waiter and asked, “Excuse me, sir, but where are we?” 

The waiter stared at her like she was crazy. “Are you serious? You’re in Central City!”

“Thanks,” Wanda said with a stiff smile. The waiter walked away shaking his head, muttering something under his breath.

Perplexed, Peter wondered, “Central City? I’ve never heard of Central City. Is it even in America?”

“It has a dumb name, so we’re probably in America,” Pietro observed.

“I—what’s that supposed to mean?” Peter demanded.

“Whatever you want it to mean,” Pietro said.

Peter practically growled. “I’ve about had it with you Russians—“

“We’re not Russian!” Wanda and Pietro exclaimed in sync.

“Whatever!” Peter snapped. “You’re annoying.”

Pietro sighed, twisting in his seat so he can see the clock on the wall. “We have to get back before six o’clock,” he said. “I have a date tonight.”

Nodding, Peter said, “Yeah, me too. I also have a date.”

With a smirk, Pietro gloated, “My girlfriend is much prettier than yours.”

“Can’t argue with that, since I don’t actually have a girlfriend,” Peter agreed.

Confused, Pietro tilted his head slightly. “Then how are you going on a date? Unless it is not with a girl…?”

Peter looked at Pietro as if to say _seriously_? “C’mon, bro. I’m not gay. I’m third-wheeling it at Jean and Scott’s date. They always eat out at really nice restaurants, and they needed a chauffeur.”

“Who are Jean and Scott?” Wanda inquired.

“These two punks I know. They’re nice enough—good X-Men—but they always have their tongues down each other’s throats. It’s disgusting,” Peter said. 

Pietro lifted his eyebrows. “ _X-Men_?” 

“Yeah.” Peter shifted in his seat defensively. “It’s the superhero group who always saves the world.”

Snickering, Pietro nudged Wanda with his elbow. “X-Men,” he repeated, and Wanda couldn’t help the small smile that crossed her face. 

With a scowl, Peter challenged, “Since you’re so high and mighty, what’s _your_ superhero organization called?”

“The Avengers,” Pietro replied.

“Fuck. That is better than X-Men,” Peter admitted. 

Pietro snuck another glimpse of the clock, and Wanda watched him worriedly, knowing he was starting to get anxious and the caffeine definitely wasn’t helping. She reached over and squeezed his forearm comfortingly, giving him an encouraging smile when he placed his hand over hers. Peter felt strangely saddened by the twins’ interaction, and tapped his fingers against his drained coffee cup to try and distract him from his melancholy. 

Standing up, Wanda suggested, “Let’s get out of here. We need to try and find a way back home.”

“About damn time,” Peter said, still trying to shake off the glum shadow that seemed to have fallen over him. He was ready to return to the mansion. Maybe he’d even visit home, which was something he hadn’t done since moving out.

The three Maximoffs exited Jitters, and upon walking outside, they were immediately smacked into by someone travelling at incredibly high speeds. A young man groaned from the ground, and the Maximoffs peered down at him curiously. The man had dishevelled brown hair and wore a plaid button down shirt and jeans. He looked normal enough, but evidently there was something up. 

“Who the hell are you?” Peter asked.

The man blinked a couple times and groaned. “What?”

“Who are you?” Wanda repeated.

“I’m, uh, the Flash,” he answered before quickly backtracking, “I mean, not the Flash. Definitely not the Flash.”

Peter looked over at the twins. “Who’s the Flash?” 

“Seriously?” The man said incredulously from the sidewalk. “The Flash? No? Come on. I’m a superhero!”

Wanda looked intrigued. “Really? What do you do?”

Standing up, the man answered, “I…run really fast. I swear it’s cooler than it sounds.”

“Oh, my God,” Peter said.

Pietro deadpanned, “Are you serious?”

The man stuttered, “I—yeah, um—“

“Your last name isn’t Maximoff, is it?” Wanda interrupted.

“No, it’s Allen, why…?” The man trailed off, his eyes skipping from one Maximoff to another. 

Peter started to explain. “The three of us somehow got transported here for some reason and it turns out me and Blondie here are these weird, alternate universe versions of each other, and we can both run really fast. I mean, I’m faster, but—“

Pietro cut in to add, “But I’m cooler, and I died once—“

Peter rolled his eyes. “He didn’t die—“

“I’m an Avenger—“

“I’m an X-Man—“

“That’s a dumb name for a superhero group.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t choose it.”

“Shut up!” Wanda shouted. “You’re both idiots, okay? Now please, just _stop arguing_!”

Allen’s eyes suddenly widened to the size of dinner plates, and his jaw fell. “Oh, my God,” he said. “Oh, my God!”

“What?” Peter exclaimed.

“I know who you guys are! Peter, Pietro, and Wanda Maximoff!” Allen’s forehead creased with confusion. “But...how did you guys get here?”

“I already told you, bro,” Peter said, “We all passed out and then magically woke up somewhere else. Or, here. Central City.”

Understanding dawned upon Allen, and he pointed over to where Peter and Pietro had raced to earlier. “You see that building? Meet me over there and I can help get you guys back home,” he instructed. 

The Maximoff’s, desperate to leave Central City, did as they were told. Allen, Peter, and Pietro ran, and Wanda was carried by Pietro. Allen reached the building first, then Peter, then Pietro and Wanda. 

To Pietro, Peter said, “Damn he’s fast.”

Allen grinned. “Well, I can travel through time.”

“You can _what_?” Pietro said.

“You know, time travel,” Allen said.

Pietro stared at Peter. “Can you do that?”

Peter shook his head. “No!”

Wanda laughed. “I like you, Allen,” she said, “Not many people can show up my brothers.” 

_Brothers_. Plural. Both of them. Peter swallowed, hard. He missed Wanda; he missed _his_ Wanda. He hadn’t seen her since he’d abandoned her for the X-Men last year. God, he was an awful brother. 

“It’s Barry, actually,” the Flash said, “Allen is my last name.”

Barry unlocked the doors to the building with a flourish, and announced, “Welcome to S.T.A.R. Labs!”

“That means absolutely nothing to me,” Peter told Barry.

“Scientific and Technological Advanced Research Laboratories. It was a research and development company that now serves as a metahuman prison and my headquarters as the Flash,” Barry explained. 

“Cool, I guess,” Peter said. 

Barry lead them through a couple hallways into a room full of computers and all sorts of advanced technology. A red suit with a yellow lightning bolt on its chest was set up in the corner, and though Peter didn’t want to admit it, it was pretty impressive. 

From the next room a guy with shoulder length black hair and a woman with curled brown hair walked in, arguing amongst themselves. “Hey, guys,” Barry greeted warmly. 

“Hey...Barry,” the young man said slowly, his gaze sliding from Barry to the Maximoffs. 

“This is Cisco and Caitlin,” Barry introduced. “And you know who they are.”

Cisco let out a small laugh of disbelief. “Is this a joke?”

“I don’t know, man, you tell me,” Peter responded. 

“I don’t understand,” Caitlin said. “Barry, what’s going on?”

Wanda frowned. “What _is_ going on? How does this... _Cisco_ know who we are?”

“You’re Wanda and Pietro Maximoff! From the Avengers! You guys are awesome! It was totally lame how they killed you off.” Cisco aimed the last sentence at Pietro, who looked mildly offended. 

“Come on, bro. What about me?” Peter asked, never liking it when people’s attention strayed from him.

“Oh, you’re the other Quicksilver,” Cisco said, almost dismissively.

“ _The other Quicksilver_ ,” Peter repeated.

“Yeah. Evan Peters,” Cisco confirmed.

“Who the hell is Evan Peters?” Peter asked Pietro. Pietro only shrugged. 

“So here’s the thing,” Barry began, taking charge of the situation. “Cisco can manipulate dimensional energy. I think he might have accidentally teleported you guys to Central City.”

Cisco snapped his fingers. “That makes sense. I was watching the second _Avengers_ movie last night, and then I got to thinking how weird it would be if they were real—”

“We are real,” Wanda snapped. 

“Right. Sorry. The point is, I can take you back,” Cisco said. 

Relief washed over all three Maximoffs like an ocean wave. Wanda let out a sigh, and Pietro pulled her into a brief one-armed hug. Facing Peter, Wanda stuck out her hand. “It was nice to meet you, Peter,” she said. 

Peter shook Wanda’s outstretched hand. “You too.” They dropped their arms, and Peter, knowing he’d probably never see this version of Wanda ever again, felt the need to point out, “You’re still wearing pajamas.”

Wanda groaned and Pietro laughed. “Goodbye, less attractive me,” Pietro told Peter.

“I’m faster than you,” Peter shot back.

Wanda rolled her eyes. “Come on, boys. Let’s go home.”

***

**Westchester, New York, 1984**

Peter woke up to Ororo leaning over him with an uncapped permanent marker. He blinked sleepily, and the outlines of a nervous Kurt and a giddy Jubilee came into focus. 

“Hey,” Peter said groggily, swatting at Ororo’s hand. 

Giggling, Jubilee tugged Ororo away. “Come on!” She squealed. “Kurt, teleport us away.”

Concern evident in Kurt’s eyes, he told his disoriented friend, “Sorry, Peter.” Then he and the girls vanished with a _bamf_ , Jubilee still grinning like an idiot and Ororo smirking in a manner than made Peter feel very, very afraid. 

“God damnit,” Peter muttered, heaving himself upright and yawning. He was back in his bedroom in the mansion somehow, and with a _woosh_ , Peter zipped into the attached bathroom and flicked on the lights.

“Fuck,” he swore. 

Ororo had drawn a giant, disgustingly detailed dick right in the middle of his forehead. 

***

**Classified Location, New York, 2016**

Pietro was woken up by Natasha slapping him across the face. “Wake up!” She shouted.

Groaning, Pietro sat up, putting his hand to his stinging cheek. “Ty che, blyad?”

“Why are you still in bed?” Natasha demanded. She was glowering at Pietro, her arms crossed and her eyes shooting daggers. In this instant—and many others he’d had with Natasha—Pietro was glad looks couldn’t kill. 

“It’s a long story,” Pietro mumbled, sliding off his bed, which he had magically been transported to after the runin with Peter in Central City. 

“Kavinsky will be here in twenty minutes,” Natasha said exasperatedly. 

Pietro massaged his jaw, which still burned from being struck. “What?”

The assassin sighed. “Your date, remember? Klara’s going to be here soon!”

“Fuck,” Pietro swore. 

Natasha lifted her eyebrows and Pietro waved away her disapproval with an unconcerned hand. He had a date to get ready for.


End file.
